


Love is Blind

by CanonCannon



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Awkward Sexual Situations, Consensual Somnophilia, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Premature Ejaculation, Soulmates, that tag is my jam
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-03
Updated: 2018-11-30
Packaged: 2019-06-21 00:06:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15545229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CanonCannon/pseuds/CanonCannon
Summary: A series of soulmate AU ficlets.(Note that the newest chapter update may not be the last one in sequence, since I'm taking prompts and uploading them in their proper place chronologically.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Because this is a series of ficlets, POV shifts without warning. Chapters are also uploaded to fit the story's chronology, which means the most recent update may not be the last chapter of the fic. Sorry.

 

It happens shortly after they catch up with the little truck-stealing prick. Daryl’s hand grabs at him, and they both fall.

That both is and is not a metaphor.

“Daryl, what-” Rick begins, eyes darting around in practiced panic as he searches for a sniper, a knife in the guy’s hand, a walker low to the ground–any reasonable explanation for his stealthy friend suddenly dropping on his ass in the middle of the road.

“Rick- Rick, I can’t see,” Daryl says, voice a hoarse croak, hands swiping at his eyes. “Rick!”

He sounds so scared.

Rick is by his side in a moment. “Stay still. Hey, hey, I’ve got you. Does anything hurt?”

That’s when Rick notices that New Guy is sitting a couple feet away, blinking around in shock, eyes as unfocused and terrified as Daryl’s.

Oh. Oh.

Rick nearly doubles over in relief. “It’s ok. Daryl, you’re alright, just stay put for a minute. I know what happened. And you… uh, Jesus, was it? You’re fine, too. Just don’t-”

New Guy–Jesus--springs up from the ground and barrels towards him awful fast for someone who has just been unexpectedly and instantly struck blind, and for a moment Rick wonders if he has the wrong end of the stick–if maybe something else is going on, and this smallish, long-haired man isn’t Daryl’s soulmate.

Then New Guy somehow kicks him across the chest and pins him to the ground in one smooth motion, and Rick thinks Yeah, he seems about right for Daryl.

“What did you do to me?” New Guy demands menacingly. His eyes are pointed slightly to the right of Rick’s.

“I didn’t do shit,” Rick says, and he wants to laugh, except he can see Daryl standing up slowly, warily. His whole posture has changed and he’s cringing like a beaten dog, unsure where the next kick is going to come from.

“Well then what-”

“Soulmates,” Rick says quickly, and New Guy’s fist loosens around his collar. “You two, you must be soulmates. Your stomach feels weird, right? Butterflies? You feel sparks along your skin, and you’re probably starting to feel warm-”

“I’m wearing a leather coat and gloves in Virginia,” New Guy replies sharply, but he’s buying it, Rick can tell. He sits back and tugs the bandana from his neck, looking stunned.

Daryl’s far beyond stunned–Rick can see that stubborn clench of his jaw settling in. “No. No way.”

“Daryl, I’ve been through it myself.”

“No. Way.” Daryl enunciates. “He’s- he’s a-”

New Guy looks his direction, expression mildly curious, but Daryl can’t seem to finish the thought.

“At least he’s kinda pretty,” Rick says, teasing.

It’s too soon. New Guy huffs like he’s offended; Daryl just looks mortified.

They stand around in silence for a moment. It’s obvious that the two stricken men are getting uncomfortable quickly--the symptoms set in fast.

The cure isn’t going to make things any more comfortable, though, that’s for sure. RIck sure isn’t going to be the one to bring it up, and he’s relieved when New Guy finally bites the bullet.

“Look, this is stupid. And dangerous. We need to get rid of the blindness,” Jesus says, a gloved hand rubbing absently at his arm. Rick remembers the odd sensation of electricity running up and down his body. “Can we just go in the back of the truck and-”

“No,” Daryl says, clearly horrified. Rick bites back a grin before realizing that neither man would be able to see him, anyway.

“We don’t have to- we don’t actually have to-” Jesus stumbles, sounding like he’s trying to be the voice of reason. “Um. That is to say, as far as I understand it, if I remember correctly, we just need a lot of skin-to-skin contact to cement the bond-”

“Oh fucking hell,” Daryl says, and Rick can hear some real panic behind his voice. Not for the first time, he wonders if Daryl’s a virgin. They’ve never really talked about shit like this, love and relationships.

“Do you have a better idea? Because I don’t fancy being blind out here,” Jesus snaps, glaring somewhere just above Daryl’s head.

He’s right, of course, but Rick can’t stand the look on Daryl’s face. He intervenes. “Let’s get back home, ok? If you hold hands or something in the truck, that’ll start helping some. You can, uh, figure out the rest when we’re behind some walls.” It’ll give Daryl some time to get used to the idea, at least.

“Fine,” Daryl says from behind his hangnail.

“Fine,” Jesus says after a long pause. “You have a place, then? With good walls?”

“Yeah. A community. Under the circumstances, I guess you’re welcome to join us.”

“Um. Well, I have a community, too. Hilltop,” Jesus says. Then, like he’s being generous, “We can split the sorghum, fifty-fifty.”

Christ. Even with Daryl blind, he and Rick glance towards each other with twin who does this asshole think he is? expressions, but they both let it lie as Rick guides the unseeing men to the truck.

He’s settling into the driver’s seat when he hears Jesus say quietly, “You smell nice.” The two men are holding hands, unseeing eyes tilted towards each other. Rick knows, remembers from when he met Michonne, that they’ll be nearly delirious on bonding hormones for a couple of days at least. Touching each other is the only thing that will provide relief from the influx of strange new sensations.

Sighing, Rick guns it, hoping to get Daryl some privacy before things get really uncomfortable for all three of them.


	2. Chapter 2

 

Rick drives Daryl and his soulmate right up to one of Alexandria’s empty houses as soon as they’re through the gates. They manage to avoid making a spectacle of things. Rick had been able to radio ahead and ask Carol to gather up some food, and Aaron must have been nearby for the call because he furtively sneaks a small paper bag in among the casserole and canned ravioli before darting away after Carol towards the gate.

Rick decides not to think about the probable contents of that bag. This whole thing is awkward enough as it is. He can’t get much of a read on Daryl for once, so he’d felt the need, back in the truck, to inform Daryl in his best Dad voice that Jesus was right, the symptoms would go away with simple physical contact. Sex wasn’t a necessary part of becoming soulmates.

Rick had repeated that line at least three times, like some awful high school sex ed video caught in a loop. Jesus was unavoidably treated to the entire lecture, too. He’d mostly kept his inscrutable face towards the window, hand loose in Daryl’s. He couldn’t seem to sit still, obviously fighting the physical symptoms of the new bond.

Again: it was awkward.

But Rick remembers how it had felt back at the prison, being on the other side of this equation. He’d been out of control, chemicals flooding his senses, unable to think of anything but Michonne, and Daryl had taken care of everything else for him. He hadn’t given any impromptu, potentially ill-judged sex talks, but when Rick emerged from the guard tower he found Judith clean and well-fed and Carl surprisingly unresentful of his dad’s new partner. (“Daryl explained, about soulmates,” he’d said, so damn serious for his age. “He said it doesn’t mean that you loved Mom any less.”)

They’d been a little more trusting, back then. No one had stood guard to ensure Rick’s safety.

They’re less trusting now. This Jesus guy isn’t guaranteed to be a good person. He isn’t even guaranteed to treat Daryl right. They should be happy together, in an ideal world, but souls could get twisted around by life, by evil choices.

Hell, just look at Carol and Ed.

Jesus and Daryl get indoors ok–holding hands on the drive had restored some of their vision–and as he turns to leave Rick casually gives their “got your six” whistle. The one that means he’s on watch.

When he turns to close the door Daryl is grimacing at him, but he nods anyway. They’re none of them all that squeamish about privacy within the family, at least when danger is involved. And Rick reckons Daryl’s soulmate can be plenty dangerous when he wants to be.

–

After three days of alternating watch with Aaron (and no “help now” whistles or any other signs of distress, though there were some noises that had made Rick wonder), he spies Daryl smoking on the porch in the early evening.

Rick jumps at the chance to go check on him. He doesn’t even make a joke about rising from the tomb, either.

Daryl, typically, ignores him as he climbs the stairs and sits beside him on the little decorative bench.

“Uh. Hey. How’re things going?”

Daryl just side-eyes him, puffing deeply on his cigarette.

Rick side-eyes him right back. “Ok, sure, I get it. But I’m here if you need to talk.”

Daryl rolls his eyes. If he was really annoyed, though, he’d leave—Rick knows that well enough.

“You look like hell,” he tries next. It’s true, too. Daryl clearly hasn’t slept much. There are a couple of bruises on his arms and shoulders that look suspiciously like hickeys.

Daryl sees him looking, snorts, and takes yet another deep drag of his cigarette.

It seems safe enough to joke a little. “Well, I guess he approves of that, at least.” Rick gestures vaguely at the other man’s bicep.

There’s a tense moment, but it doesn’t last. Daryl slumps against the back of the bench as if resigning himself to the fact that they’re going to have this conversation. “Think he approved of most everything, to be honest. Couldn’t stop approving.”

Rick can’t help it, he laughs. Daryl smirks back at him a little.

“You, uh, approve of him, too?”

Glancing away, Daryl blushes. He’s still looking away when he says, “Shit’s fucking weird. Whole damn life, I’ve hated it if a stranger even touched me. Now all of a sudden…”

Rick looks at his hands, giving him some space, before asking, “Did you tell him it was your first time?” Greasy hair whips through the muggy evening air as Daryl snaps to face him.

Rick just shrugs.

Daryl answers the question with one of his own. “Man, what do you need to hear right now? That he was a gentleman?”

“Hm.” Rick thinks again about Ed and Carol.

“He was,” Daryl says, earnestly enough. He’s exasperated but it’s clearly all directed Rick’s way, not at his new soulmate.

That goes a long way towards making Rick feel better. “Think we should go see this community he’s got, then?”

“Yeah.” His eyes drift out to the street. “They got a doctor, a real one. The kind that delivers babies. Paul told me.”

“I’ll tell Maggie.”

They sit in silence for awhile before Daryl adds, “Told me he’s got a boyfriend, too. Back at his community.”

It’s Rick’s turn to whip his head around. Daryl shrugs moodily and stamps out his cigarette on the otherwise pristine porch.

“What’s he gonna do about that?”

“Didn’t ask him yet. S’why I needed the cig.” He lights up a new cigarette before continuing, “And it’s why he’s sneaking around eavesdropping, the little shit.”

A guilty-looking figure slinks around the corner of the porch. “I was coming to check on you. And Alex isn’t my boyfriend.”

They all ignore the fact that Jesus could have used the front door if he’d just wanted to check up on things.

Jesus doesn’t look any better than Daryl. His hair is in a messy knot on top of his head, revealing a very visible bite mark on his ear, to Rick’s complete dismay.

Daryl notices it, too. Rick expects to see anger or embarrassment in his face, but instead there’s a hungry look in his eyes that Rick’s never seen there before.

Oh, hell. This whole thing suddenly reeks of some kind of possessive foreplay.

“I’ll leave you two to, uh.” Rick stands and pounds his way down the porch stairs.

Rick hears Jesus behind him, doing that obnoxious ‘voice of reason’ thing again. “If you’d have waited a second and listened to me instead of flouncing out of bed…”

Rick hurries away and misses the rest of the sentence, thank God. By the time he glances back, Daryl has his new soulmate pinned against the wall of the porch, and if they don’t get inside quick they’re going to give the neighborhood quite a show.

Soulmate hormones. Rick remembers them fondly. Shaking his head, he turns towards home, thinking a little too intently about those early days with Michonne.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompted (sort of) by anon on tumblr, who asked for awkward sex headcanons.

Paul wakes up feeling refreshed. Right away, he’s grateful for the absence of that borderline-painful feeling in his skin, like an electrical current passing through it. His temperature is back to normal, too, and his stomach feels normal again besides a small jolt at realizing that Daryl is not asleep beside him.

It’s still dark; he’s not sure what woke him until he catches a hint of tobacco smoke in the air.

The window’s open. Daryl sits cross-legged beneath it, and even in the dim moonlight Paul can see that he looks miserable. The hand not holding his cigarette repeatedly kneads his thigh.

“What’s wrong?” Paul asks, and Daryl startles.

“Shit. Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Aren’t you feeling better?” Paul persists. His own symptoms had begun winding down hours ago, finally allowing him to get some real sleep. “How’s your vision? Temperature?”

Daryl shrugs. His cigarette illuminates his frown.

“Get over here, then.”

His soulmate stubs the cigarette out directly on the carpeted floor and stands. As he moves, Paul sees a thin sheen of sweat on his shoulders and arms. He’s naked--they both are--and Paul tries his best not to ogle him as he takes a seat on the edge of the bed.

“I don’t know why it’s taking so long for you to heal,” he murmurs, kneeling up behind Daryl and beginning to massage his shoulders.

“I was trying to let you get some sleep,” Daryl says, a non sequitur, letting his head fall back just a bit. He’s still twitchy uncomfortable, skin heated.

“Where does it hurt?” Paul asks, close to Daryl’s ear. He was shooting for soothing and comforting, but Daryl shivers before shrugging his shoulders under Paul’s hands. “No, tell me. I want to help.”

“Legs,” Daryl grunts. “S’like they’re burning.”

Slipping off the bed, Paul kneels in front of him and begins gently rubbing his calves, then his ankles.

“Better?”

“Yeah,” Daryl sighs. “Thanks. Sorry. Don’t know why I’m still fucked up.”

“I want to help,” Paul repeats, fingers moving through thick hair. “And, well. Me touching you is the only thing that will.”

They’re quiet for awhile. In the silence of the room, Paul can hear the steady increase in Daryl’s breathing.

He straightens up and moves his hands to Daryl’s thighs, and loves the resulting gasp.

Paul has been tallying up a mental list of things he knows about his soulmate. Mostly it’s the kind of things he’d tell his sister about him if she was still alive, like Daryl’s gruff exterior and his angel wings. How he hung behind Rick until there was danger, then catapulted forward. The way he’d repeated instructions three times on the drive back to Alexandria that Rick should give the soda they’d scavenged to someone named Denise, without someone named Tara finding out about it.

His absolute favorite things about Daryl so far are just as sweet, but not anything he could have told his sister. He adores the deer-in-the-headlights expression on his soulmate’s face when things begin getting heated between them and, equally, the dazed confusion afterwards, like Daryl isn’t entirely sure how they got from Point A to Point B. He loves Daryl’s responsiveness, and the way he stubbornly ignores his own need while he tries to make Paul feel good.

Right now, he loves how Daryl bashfully shifts some of the blanket over his hardening dick.

Paul lets him hide it, but raises an eyebrow so Daryl knows he’s noticed.

“Sorry,” Daryl says. “I know we just… and you ain’t even…”

It’s true, Paul isn’t hard yet. He’ll probably get there, though, because despite how many times they’ve rubbed off on each other or exchanged handjobs in the past few days, they haven’t tried _this_.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed. It’s natural, with me like this. On my knees in front of you.”

Daryl swallows. His fingers grip the blankets.

Paul’s still rubbing Daryl’s thighs slowly, at the exact same pace. He keeps his tone light, like they’re discussing the weather. “It’s not exactly a leap to start thinking about where my hands are, how close my mouth is. Anyone would.”

Deer, meet headlights.

“I actually thought about it that first day, when you came in your pants for me.” Paul keeps his offhand tone, and Daryl blushes down to his heaving chest. “Before I knew about the shower, I wanted to clean you up myself.”

It’s immediately obvious that Daryl doesn’t get the implication.

“With my mouth,” Paul clarifies, and he sees Daryl’s eyes widen. His hips pump minutely–Paul only notices because he’s moved his right hand higher, almost under the blanket. “But then that _shower_ , my God-”

“Paul,” Daryl chides, finally realizing that he’s being teased, and Paul smiles innocently at him and slips a hand under the blanket, not quite where Daryl wants it but very close. He can hear Daryl’s teeth clench.

“How are you feeling?” Paul asks solicitously. “Are your legs any better?”

“You- you are the worst-” But Daryl chokes on his words as Paul wraps a hand around him under the blanket. He doesn’t rub at all, just holds, and Daryl’s hips move again, then a couple more times. It’s obvious he can’t control it–equally obvious that he’s trying to–and Paul wonders if he could get himself off like that, fucking against Paul’s immobile hand at this awkward angle.

Shaking off the idea, he sits forward, left hand playing on Daryl’s slight love handle. He pulls the blanket away with his teeth, and is kind of annoyed when he realizes Daryl missed that move–his narrow eyes are closed tight, face still red.

“Put your hands in my hair,” Paul says, and Daryl’s hands are there almost before he’s finished the sentence. The lightest pressure imaginable tugs him forward.

“Fuck,” Daryl breathes when Paul takes him between his lips, and “God… god _damn_ …” when he begins using his tongue along the bottom of his dick. Paul doesn’t have to bob his head because Daryl can’t keep still, so he just sucks and licks and lets his soulmate do the rest of the work.

It’s strange doing this for the first time with someone without a condom, but he knows Daryl hasn’t been with anyone before him. Besides, the feeling of warm flesh on his tongue is delicious.

After a couple minutes Daryl finally seems to realize what he’s doing, fucking into Paul’s mouth, and stops suddenly. Paul’s completely ok, in fact he’s very much a fan of having his mouth fucked mindlessly by his overstimulated and inexperienced soulmate--but Christ, he doesn’t want to stop to explain that, so instead he dives forward eagerly, taking Daryl’s dick into his throat and swallowing the taste of precome.

_It’s fine, see? Keep going, just relax and enjoy it-_

But that’s the end of _it_ , of course. Daryl throbs and explodes in his mouth with a pathetic whimper, legs pushing up against the floor. Then he falls backward onto the bed, breathing hard, while Paul swallows a couple more times around him in an effort to not make a mess.

He wipes his mouth with his forearm and keeps a hand on Daryl’s knee, thinking that Daryl is perfect for him, even perfect in general… he mentally rhapsodizes about his soulmate’s perfection right until he realizes that Daryl’s already fallen asleep, legs still splayed over the edge of the bed.

Biting his lip, Paul reminds himself of how twitchy and miserable and tired the other man had looked, sitting there smoking. Besides, Paul’s had more sex in the last few days that he’s had since the apocalypse began.

Resigned, he quietly gets to his feet and back in bed. Then, thinking again about how he’d found Daryl looking like an addict in withdrawal, he pulls the sleepy man all the way onto the bed and wraps around him like a starfish. His dick drags against the sleepy man’s side and he shuts his eyes, trying to block out the sensation.

He squirms. Shifts. Squirms again. He’s just trying to get comfortable, but fuck, he’s so hard, and Daryl is so warm against him.

Daryl opens one eye and peers down at him in irritation. Paul freezes guiltily.

“Eh, I don’t mind,” Daryl says, shifting to give Paul more room.

Christ. Prince Charming, this one.

Regardless, Paul takes him up on the offer and frots against him, somewhere between his hip and his obliques, gently mouthing at his shoulder for awhile before giving up and sucking another bruise onto it. He’s never been possessive before; maybe it’s a soulmate thing. Daryl seems to fall asleep at some point in this whole undignified performance, which feels all kinds of naughty. His nipples are hard, and Paul comes thinking about how sensitive they are, what a sleeping Daryl might do if he started playing with them.

Daryl wakes up to come spurting over his stomach, and it’s a testament to how much sex they've had since meeting that the virginal man doesn’t even seem phased. He lazily wipes it off on a clump of blankets, then kisses Paul equally lazily before rearing back a little at the taste.

“I promise it’s not so bad once you get used to it,” Paul says, grinning, expecting embarrassment or snark in return.

God, he already likes Daryl so much.

“Quit tormenting me and get some sleep, asshole” Daryl replies, drowsy. He smacks Paul’s arm before snuggling into his side, and they both drop to sleep within seconds.


	4. Chapter 4

It’s definitely the one of the stranger family meetings any of them can remember.

Rick isn’t there, for one—he’s still on watch. Carl, Enid, and Judith also aren’t present, for obvious reasons.

“So they’ve, uh. They’ve been in there a long time,” Aaron says, standing in the doorframe, his hands in his pockets.

Everyone looks blankly around, waiting for someone else to suggest a reasonable course of action for this situation.

No one does, so Aaron begins again. “We’re just looking for input, really, if anyone’s heard of this sort of… _reaction_ to bonding before. We don’t think Daryl is in any danger, Rick and I can still… uh. Well, Rick spoke to him a couple days ago, and we’re keeping watch from next door. As you know. And we… the point is, Daryl is obviously fine. _Very_ obviously. If you know what I mean.” Aaron clears his throat.

“What _do_ you mean?” Tara asks immediately, leaning forward, eyes intentionally held wide.

The awkward tension breaks with a few chuckles around the room.

Michonne elbows her. “Were you all this immature about it when Rick and I-“

“Yep,” Glenn answers immediately. Beside him, Maggie nods.

Sasha smirks but pulls them back on track. “Ok, seriously, what do we do here? It’s been almost a week.”

“Why are we even worrying about it? Maybe Daryl’s soulmate is just…” Rosita gestures with her hands, vaguely obscene. “Un buen polvo, you know? Nothing wrong with that.”

Abraham nods. “That’s gotta be it, God bless ‘em, because soul bonds sure as shit don’t take a week to heal.”

“They can, actually,” Denise says. Everyone swings to look at her. She leans into Tara so far that she’s effectively hiding behind her.

“Well go on,” Abe says, bushy eyebrows raising. “Tell us, doctor, what kind of purebred, pedigreed, American-Kennel-Club-certified horndogs need a damn week of hootenanny for their bonds to settle?”

Denise replies quickly, at first—a med student proud to know the answer. “Difficulty stabilizing a bond is uncommon, but it’s a well-documented condition associated with early childhood abuse…” she trails off, looking dismayed by what just came out of her mouth. She makes it worse by continuing to babble. “When the brain is still developing, um, in babies and toddlers, really- the bonding mechanism can be, um. Damaged. If the baby can’t bond with a caregiver- if their environment is habitually unsafe- or…”

She finally stops, her discomfort hanging in the air around them.

“The guy, Daryl’s soulmate, he seems like a good guy to you, huh?” Michonne asks Aaron, very quietly. The whole room can hear her.

“I haven’t really met him.” Aaron looks more surprised than most of the family, eyes creased in sadness. “Rick thinks he’s ok. And well, like I mentioned, everything seemed alright when he asked Daryl.”

There’s barely a beat, and then Carol springs up from her chair. “Well, I guess I better drop off some more food at the door.”

Abraham stands, too, and pulls Eugene with him. “We can cover Daryl’s next shifts on the wall. He’s due for this afternoon.”

“Let’s double the watch,” Rosita says as people begin slowly filing out of the house. “Just in case this guy’s community comes looking for him, we want to see them first and explain-“

“Yeah,” Michonne nods. “I’ll take this afternoon with Carl.”

Maggie squeezes Denise’s shoulder. Gabriel goes to check on Rick. Eric wraps a comforting arm around Aaron’s waist.

“Wait, Carol! We just made some protein bars today,” Tara says, jogging to catch up with her. “They taste like shit. I’ll bring some by in a minute.”


	5. Chapter 5

 

Rick is going to be really glad when this is over.

He’s happy for Daryl, of course. But this is ideally supposed to be a private time for new soulmates, and instead Daryl and Paul are sitting in front of him looking utterly debauched. Bruises, beard burn, slightly chapped lips. Four painful-looking scratch marks from Paul’s neck down to his collar bone. There’s a weird stain on Daryl’s jeans, and right about the time Rick realizes what it is, Daryl realizes he’s looking.

They both blush to the roots of their hair, and Rick makes a mental note to drop by a change of clothes and then never mention any of this ever again.

“Right. So. Denise said it’s nothing to worry about. You just need a few more days together and you’ll be fine.” He stays standing when Paul waves for him to sit on the chair across from them. He doesn’t want to stay any longer than he has to.

“Wait, Denise knows about…” Daryl jerks his thumb at Paul.

Rick frowns. “The family knows. It wasn’t something we could really keep quiet, not for long. And… Daryl, it’s not something you need to, something you _ever_ needed to hide.” He thinks Daryl knows he’s ok with the whole gay thing, but he wants to be sure.

“You weren’t out, before?” Paul asks, sounding surprised. “Wow. Your family isn’t very observant. I knew you were gay right away, with how much you were staring at-“

“Why’re you assuming that’s the issue, huh, asshole? Maybe I just didn’t want ‘em to know about you because you’re fucking obnoxious, ever think of that?”

“So, he’s been a little irritable,” Paul says to Rick, unperturbed. “Is that a symptom, or just him?”

“Have not,” Daryl’s grumbles, irritably. Then, “You would be, too, if your skin felt like it was under a belt sander.”

“Hmm. Personally, I feel great,” Paul says, but Rick catches how he sneaks a hand under the back of Daryl’s shirt and rubs gently. Daryl slumps forward a little.

“What else did the doc say?”

“Just that it’s not unheard of, difficulty stabilizing a bond. The longest known case lasted three weeks-“ Daryl groans, slumping forward even more to put his head in his hands “-but that’s unusual. She reckons you’re almost through. Paul, you, uh. We really need you here until he’s better.”

“Of course,” he agrees immediately, still rubbing Daryl’s lower back.

“You want us to send a messenger to your people? Ain’t they getting worried?” Daryl asks.

“God, no. I’ve been out longer than this.”

“Yeah, but for a solo run? Yaint supposed to check in at some point?”

“I always scout alone. I can handle myself.” Paul sounds a little defensive now.

Rick and Daryl shoot each other a glance, but don’t comment on how shitty that seems to them.

“Point is, you don’t have to keep this up much longer,” he says, then immediately regrets his choice of words when Paul raises an eyebrow. “I mean, um, once your skin feels better, then more casual... _stuff_ , holding hands and such, will finish healing the bond.”

“Gee, are you sure?” Paul says virtuously. “Better safe than sorry.”

Daryl elbows him, hard.

Rick steamrolls on. He desperately wants to leave; the whole house stinks of sex and cheap apple-scented shampoo. “The skin irritation may come back for another couple weeks if you go too long without skin-to-skin contact, so we’ll keep you two together as much as we can for now.”

“Did she say why I’m like this?” Daryl asks. “He’s been feeling better for days.”

Rick bites his lip. “Something to do with your father,” he says evasively.

“Oh.” Daryl’s face is blank, but Paul still gets it right away.

“I’m sorry. Your parents... you shouldn’t have had to go through that,” he says quietly in Daryl’s ear, still stroking over the scars that Rick knows are layered across his back.

“Psh. You just met me,” Daryl growls. He doesn’t meet either of their eyes, and shifts away from Paul’s hand on his back. “And you don’t know shit about my folks.”

"I know they didn’t deserve you.”

Daryl just shakes his head, and Rick can’t tell if he’s agreeing or disagreeing with his soulmate.

He knows that this conversation should be between them, though.

“I’m heading out. Holler if you need anything.”

Daryl nods at him.

He’s already settled in to let Paul rub his back again.


	6. Chapter 6

 

Of all the reactions Paul had expected from Alex, laughter wasn’t one of them--yet here he is, almost doubled over.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he says when he finally stops. “I’m happy for you. I am. It’s just- a surprise. To say the least. I mean, God, you of all people. The most solitary, closed-off...” Alex shakes his head. He doesn’t have to finish because Paul’s heard it all before, anyway. “I’ve got to meet this guy. He must be something else. What’s his name?”

“Daryl,” Paul says, the word still rolling around chaotically in his mind.

\--

Daryl.

Daryl’s eyes, darting around like he desperately wanted to escape as soon as Rick had left them alone together. Paul’s vision was still blurry but he’d been able to see it, the discomfort. He saw it, but he’d been so worked up by then, skin feeling like he’d rolled around in brambles, that he’d still yanked off his shirt and stepped forward like a goddamn drum major ready to lead a parade.

Daryl’s shoulders, hunched defensively even as he began to tentatively run his hands over Paul’s arm. They both whimpered with relief and stepped closer.

Daryl’s stomach, slightly soft but muscled underneath. Gorgeous hips. Paul had let his hands hover for a moment, waiting for permission, before skimming up Daryl’s shirt, palms pressing into his stomach, sides, lower ribcage. His vision sharpened and his skin felt better, less prickly. It was hard to stop himself from launching forward and climbing Daryl like a tree.

But he did stop himself, because Daryl’s back came next. (“Sorry, if it bothers you,” Daryl said quietly, frowning. “I know it’s ugly.”)

Daryl’s mouth, then, because Paul couldn’t help but kiss him after that. He was gentle and slow about it until Daryl wasn’t.

And God, Daryl’s dick, getting harder under his jeans. Paul ignored it and ignored it and ignored it, keeping his hands above the waist except for one abortive swipe at the side of Daryl’s thigh--but it was still covered with denim, and Paul needed skin like air. They were pressed together tight, chest to chest. Daryl had gasped as Paul sucked a mark on his shoulder, thumbed at his nipple, dug his hand into his waist.

Daryl’s hips strained forward, his knees seemed to buckle a little, and... oh.

Oh, fuck.

Paul had to bite the inside of his cheek to get ahold of himself.

His instinct was to help Daryl out of his dampening jeans, maybe drop to his knees to help him clean up. He’d have done that, with any other lover.

Daryl pretty clearly was not ‘any other lover.’

“You ok?” Paul asked, taking a tiny step back and enjoying the sight of a deep blush spreading across Daryl’s dirt-smeared cheeks. He was glad his vision had returned to normal for that.

“Shit. I- yeah, m’fine. Sorry. Just... m’sorry. Fuck. I didn’t mean...”

“Daryl, it’s ok. This is, uh, intense. For me, too.”

Daryl just nodded, looking down at the floor between them.

“What do you all do for water? Could I get a bucket or something, and we could both clean up a bit?” The last thing Paul wanted to do was stop, but now that they’d had some contact--taken the edge off--he could smell himself. And more to the point, he could smell Daryl. Christ almighty.

Daryl blinked at him, lips twitching. “Uh. Water reclamation. Place was built for rich hippies or something. And the showers are rigged into the solar power. So.”

Paul stared at him, not comprehending.

The twitch grew into a smile, lopsided and small but unmistakable.

It finally clicked in Paul’s mind. “Hot showers. You’re telling me this place has hot showers.”

“Uh huh.”

“Oh my God.” Paul turned and sprinted to find a bathroom.

“Hold the fuck up, I’m coming. Damn skin still feels like sandpaper,” Daryl called, chasing him.

“Then hurry,” Paul moaned. The second door he opened was a bathroom and he fixated immediately on the glorious, gigantic tub. He could see Daryl unbuttoning his jeans so he began tugging his pants off, too.

Things got easier between them, after that.

\--

Facing his petty ex, Paul is tempted to brag about Daryl. He’s tempted to rub it in his face, that he has a soulmate now, a sweet and good-looking guy with shoulders for days. He knows it’s mean, but Alex has so often talked down to him, treated him like he was defective...

He takes a different tack instead.

“Alexandria has hot showers,” he says, intentionally bratty, and watches as incredulous envy floods Alex’s face.

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by the lovely Syrabylene on tumblr <3

Once the shock has worn off, Daryl begins to feel something like worry threading its way through his joy.

They’re in the car heading back to Hilltop, having pulled Merle from an abandoned and surrounded building. Rick is driving--and what a reunion _that_ had been, until Merle had seen Daryl and forgotten all about Officer Friendly.

Merle keeps tearing up himself, even as he tells Daryl not to be such a pussy--he’s got tears openly running down his cheeks, nothing to be done about it--and about the third time Merle says “Man up, Darlyna, for Christ’s sake,” Daryl realizes he’d better get his news out of the way fast. They can see the walls of Alexandria ahead.

If Merle wants to disown him over it, at least it’ll be quick. He won’t have time to get used to having the asshole in his life again, only to be abandoned, _again_.

“Gotta tell you something,” he says hoarsely, and he can see Rick’s hands tighten on the steering wheel, like he knows what’s coming. “I should tell you, before we get in. I- I found my soulmate, about a month back.”

“A shithead like you’s got a soulmate? Who’d’ve thought.” It’s all a joke. He can tell Merle’s happy for him. “Bet she’s an ugly broad--is she ugly, Officer friendly? Over sixty, maybe. Has she got any teeth? What’s her name?”

Daryl takes a deep breath and says, “His, uh. His name's Paul.”

\--

When they drive in, it’s obvious Paul’s been sparring with Aaron--they’re sitting together having lunch under a tree near the gate. His hair is down and a bit damp with sweat. Otherwise in his training clothes, loose track pants and a tight tank top that always makes Daryl sweat.

He’s certainly sweating now.

Daryl wishes Paul’s hair was up. He looks a little less, well, _gay_ , with his hair in his ninja topknot.

They pile out of the car, where Merle has been silent since Daryl delivered the news. Rick wisely takes off to talk to Aaron, leaving Daryl to deal with introductions.

Paul comes over, obviously opening his arms for an embrace. Before he can get close, Daryl says, “Paul. Paul, this is, uh. This is Merle.”

His soulmate stops mid step, pivoting on his heels to look. Daryl hasn’t talked much about Merle, but Paul knows the name. He knows how important Merle was to him.

Friendliness lights up Paul’s smile and he says warmly, “Merle. Wow. I’m so glad- I can’t believe Daryl found you again. I’m Paul.” He holds out his hand.

Merle shakes it, and Daryl lets out a breath.

His relief is premature.

“Thought you said your soulmate was a _man_ , brother. This little lady’s pretty as a picture,” Merle says. His eyes scan Paul’s body in a way that makes Daryl’s jaw clench. “You finishing up some yoga with the gals?”

“He’s joking,” Daryl says, stomach dropping in horror. “He’s- Fuck, Merle, have some fucking manners-”

“Sparring, actually,” Paul corrects. By some miracle he doesn’t look offended; in fact, his mouth is twisted in amusement. “Once you’ve settled in, maybe we could go a round.”

Merle laughs like it’s the funniest joke he’s ever heard. “You’d like that, huh, sweetheart? What, you tired of Darlyna already, want a real man to-”

“Jesus Christ, Merle-”

“I understand if you don’t want to,” Paul says, eyes sparking. “You’re older, you’ve just got the one hand-”

Oh, God. If Paul loses his temper he could kill the moron. “Paul, you ain’t gotta fight him, fuck’s sake, he’s just a stupid sack of-”

“Let’s go,” Merle says, in that tone that means he’s beyond reason, already unstrapping his makeshift prosthetic. “Don’t you worry, little brother, I won’t aim for his pretty face.”

\--

And Merle never teased Daryl about being gay again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the silliness XD


End file.
